


Sophie's Bar

by Markath



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-22 16:12:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7445527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Markath/pseuds/Markath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set somewhere in Season 1. John and Harold try to get to know each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justayellowumbrella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justayellowumbrella/gifts).



John entered the bar, smoky air and smell of alcohol pushed against him.  
Looked around, decided for a barstool on the side.  
Exits in view and the stairs to men's and women's restrooms.

“A beer.” He commanded when the barkeeper showed.  
A bottle was slid to him.  
He was just enjoying his first sip when his phone buzzed.

A tap on his ear. “Finch?”

“Mr. Reese.”

“New number?”

“No.”

Reese frowned.

“I thought we were done at the library…”

“Where are you?”

Reese sighed. Hesitated. Wanted to stay alone after their discussion about the last case. 

“You know where to find me.” Was all he finally answered and tapped his ear to end the communication.  
How long would it take? He guessed a beer, and he was right.  
John just ordered his second beer when a voice he knew by heart sat next to him.

“Really, Mr. Reese. - You didn’t expect me to leave things like that?” Harold’s voice sounded straight, but clipped.

“For once, yes, Finch.” Reese answered. “Besides, there’s nothing further to add.”

“Mr. Reese…”

“Finch, I didn’t do it for mercy. I did it because…”

But Finch interrupted him. “You did it because you pitied her.”

That remark kept John silent.

*

**Two days earlier…**

“Is there something else I should know about our new number, Finch?”

The voice in his ear sounded distracted.

“Mr. Reese. Didn’t we decide this time for ‘watch and learn’?”

John couldn’t suppress a small grin.

“I learned 50 years old, average height, good job, nice husband, a house, a dog, a cat…”

A sigh on the other end made him continue: “…no threat so far, as I watched?”

He also heard noises that sounded a lot like the drives he had seen earlier on Finch’s desk. Since yesterday, to be precise.

“Besides, what did you learn from these drives, Finch?”

The noises stopped for a moment. Bingo!

“I didn’t know your computer expertise, Mr. Reese.”

John shook his head. “No offense, Finch, but you shoveled them from the left side of your desk to the right side. For which purpose other than that they are useless?”

Silence on the other end.

“You figured it out by the noise?”

“I figured it out because you made no tapping sounds on your keyboard.”

Silence on the other end again.

John leaned back in the car where he watched the house of their new number. Suburban life, normal for so many people. A nice house, a neatly planted garden, dogs and cats running around, in the afternoon the laughs and cries of the kids.

The low sound of music seemed to underline the beautiful picture he just drew, when Harold interrupted his stream of thoughts.

“What are you listening to?”

John grinned. “A classic.”

“You declare country music as 'classic'?”

“Finch!” John asked himself sometimes if Harold had indeed lived in this world... or was born on another planet. (Which would explain why there was nothing to be found about him so far.)  
“Don't tell me you don't know one famous song.”

“Mr. Reese. There are far more important things in this world than country music...”

“How about 'Sweet Home Alabama'?”

“Mr. Reese -”

John saw suddenly a man going through the garden door and straight for the house. In seconds he had taken a photo.

“Finch, this isn't her husband. Sending you a photo.”

He could hear Harold tapping on his computer. “This will take me a moment.”

John's mouth twitched again. “If you like, I can sing another famous country song for you...”

He spoke to a silent communication line. Alright. Finch was no fan of country music. The way he had pronounced 'classic' let John guess that he was more the classical type.  
Maybe he should switch to the classic channel? Seeing Harold's reaction could put an end to his speculation. At least on one of his way too many ones...

He just reached for the radio when he heard Finch's voice again.

“It's a neighbor from the other street. Officially logged in for work. I guess he's not working right now?”

Instead of an answer, John left the car. “Only one way to find out.”

“Mr. Reese?”

“You're not planning on breaking and entering?”

When Harold got no answer from John, he tried to get access to the street cameras as fast as possible. And yes, there he could watch John climbing the balcony of the house, where a door stood wide open.

“Mr. Reese, this is highly impropriate...” Harold started anew, but the link was dead. This was another situation he had always dreaded because right now he could watch the husband appear on the street camera, parking the car, stepping out and walking in a fast way to the house! As if he would have known... 

Quickly, Harold was tapping again, looking for a camera inside the house he could hack.

And there it was – right to the bedroom. He also activated the TV to have ears inside the house, and rightly there, he could hear loud voices. Arguing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N**  
>  Sorry for taking so long to update! - RL...!!!  
> I'll try to be quicker with the next one. LOL

A female voice, agitated. “Hugh, this is not the best time.”

A man answered, clearly upset. “It never is, Sophie. - If we don't talk this through now, it will stay between us, the whole time. Every barbecue, every garden party...”

“Hugh, I told you. I won't repeat the same mistake again.”

“Sophie, it wasn't a mistake. Don't say that! It felt like real...for the first time in my life...”

“I'm not interested in your 'first time', Hugh.” Her voice sounded dismissive.

“I can't believe you just give up on everything we...”

“We're both married, Hugh, aren't we?” The female voice had turned almost desperate.

“Are we still?” A third voice suddenly interrupted the argument. That must have been the husband, Harold assumed inwardly, because there was an abrupt silence in the living room.

  
*  
  
“Finch.” The voice in his ear was back, low.  


“Mr. Reese. What are you going to do?” Harold realized that John had refrained from interfering so far.

“Waiting.”

Harold shook his head. “Then why enter in the first place?”

“Preventive measures.”

“The dispute is still ongoing.” Harold added dryly. “You could have stayed in the car, for once.”

The voice on the other end started to get chilly. “Finch, if you don't trust me to do things right, just tell me.”

“Mr. Reese.” Harold straightened in his swiveled chair. Not only the sudden pain in his back but the pain of memories also made him speak through gritted teeth.

“It was never a matter of trust.”

“As I said before, Finch, trust works both ways, so...”

John didn't come to end his sentence when Harold heard him suddenly hurrying down the stairs from the first floor.

For one second, they both had lost track of the three people downstairs in the living room. But John had sometimes a way...

Since Harold couldn't watch anything, he concentrated on the voices.

“Excuse me.” John's voice, husky, but clear enough. “Detective Stills. Someone in the neighborhood reported problems in your house?”

Three faces turned to him. One confused, one guilty and one relieved. Sophie was the last one and started to give a small smile to the handsome stranger in a suit who stood in the door of the living room, almost too calm for a normal police officer.

She walked over to him.

“I am sorry.” She said, trying to hide her emotions under a forced laugh.

“This argument just got a little bit out of hand...barbecue, you know.” She added to make it clear it was a harmless topic.

“Won't happen again, right?” She turned to both of the men who had been silent so far to be met with approval.

“And I am Sophie Turner, by the way. You said your name was...?”

“Just call me John.”

The interested focus of the whole room on him now, Reese smiled as charmingly as he could.

The other good-looking man, grey suit, grey hair - her husband, Mr. Turner, as Reese knew from the photos on Harold's glass board – stepped forward.

“Which one of our neighbors reported us, Detective? And how did it happen that you just came by? I closed the house door.”

John didn't lose his charming smile. “Confidential. I happened to be around when the call came in. Civil police at work, you know? - And you must have left the door open.”

Mr. Turner came closer, his voice strict. “Really? How about I call my lawyer first. And I'd like to see your badge.”

John didn't flinch one moment, but Sophie stepped in.

“Honey, that's enough. We don't want any trouble here, right? - And shouldn't you be at the airport to catch a plane for an important meeting?”

She turned back to John. “Excuse us, Detective. We won't disturb the neighborhood any longer. - Hugh, let's discuss the barbecue plans later, alright?”

Knowing this was his call to retreat, John nodded and went.

  
*  
  
“Finch.”  


Outside the house, John had returned to his car and started the engine.

“Can you give me more information about these two men?”

Since he got no immediate answer, he concentrated on the noises he heard in his ear. Finch was...limping down the steps of the library?

“Where are you going, Finch?”

“Mr. Reese. Your demand will have to wait. - I am sorry, but something came up.”

“Something?”

“I'll be back in the library in three hours.”

“Three hours?” But the link was already dead. What the heck had Finch to do that took three hours when they were in the middle of a case?

  
*  
  


After he had brought the rented car back and exchanged a new one to return near Sophie's house, he called Fusco.

The detective was just about to enjoy his lunch on a bench near his favorite food stall when the first call came in that he ignored. It was only after the third when he picked up, suspecting who the unknown caller was.

“Lionel.”

“Yeah.” Fusco's voice was gruff.

“I need you to...”

Fusco stopped before biting again in his delicious burger.

“Of course, my friend.” Ironic.

Ha! There was silence on the phone.

But a second later he nearly jumped from his bench and lost his burger, because John took place beside him - as always, freaking him out.

“...look into these names.” John handed him a new burger and a note.

“Stop doing that!”

John only tilted his head. His mouth twitched. “Bringing your favorite burger?”

Instead of an answer, Fusco took the fresh burger and looked at the names.

“What should I look for?”

John leaned back. “I only want to know if there are some records...”

“That's all?”

“Not enough work at the precinct?”

Fusco harrumphed and decided to eat.

“Next time better pick up directly.” The husky voice whispered in his ear.

Fusco moved slightly to the edge of the bench, but John was already standing.

“Anything else?”

“I expect your call quickly.”

“Where are you going?”

John raised an eyebrow. “Work?”

Fusco lifted the note. “What is this about?”

“Trying to help, Lionel? - Then get me some answers.”

As fast as John had appeared, he had vanished, leaving Fusco wondering behind.

  
*  
  
Harold had utterly forgotten about the board meeting of his newly bought magazine 'Arts and Creation'. Since it was the first one with him as an official member of the board his attendance was expected. And of course he was late, and of course it didn't last two hours but four. He checked the phone many times, but no call came in from Mr. Reese although he had counted on it so he would be able to excuse himself from the meeting. Where did his hired ex-government hitman go?  
  
*  
  


John had headed back near to Sophie's house. Since he had cloned her phone when he was in the house, he had watched her signal going from home to the airport and back. He tried to listen in on her when he just saw her leaving the house. His curiosity was piqued. A date with the neighbor? He really hadn't figured out yet from where the threat should come for her. Well, he would know when he continued staying close to her, so he simply followed her car.  


He was astonished when Sophie left her car in a city garage and continued her way by foot. Tracking her for over ten minutes, she finally entered a bar. But the seconds he needed to cross the street and go after her made him lose her.  
She was nowhere to be seen in the already crowded bar. Young, stylishly dressed people beside old folks in a relaxed and serene atmosphere, drinking beer or fancy cocktails. Where was Sophie? A waiter who came by put a beer in his hands, so he made his way to the counter and took a seat at the edge of it.  


Again, he took his time to scan through the crowd.

“And look who's here.”

Turning his head, John found himself opposite Sophie. She was behind the bar. Dressed up, wearing make-up. Garden boots changed into high heels. It was as though Sophie herself had slipped into another persona. And John couldn't tell which he liked more.  


“Detective John Stills, isn't it?”  


_Caught._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**
> 
> Again, sorry it took so long. I'll try to do better!!!
> 
> And thank you, _justayellowumbrella_ , for giving me a hand with a 'key-sentence'!!!

Harold returned to the library after surviving almost five hours of the board meeting. If he had known how long it would take, he would have never gone there. After checking the phone again for left messages and seeing that he had none from Mr. Reese, Harold agonized over a cup of freshly brewed Sencha green tea about what to do. 

Noticing the slight tension between his employee and himself that had developed, he wasn't certain in which direction this would go. He had realized that Mr. Reese had asked subtle questions after questions here and there to find out more about him but...the real question was how much was he willing to let him in?

The Machine had found John for him, and to be honest, he still hadn't caught the real cause behind this choice that his creation had taken for him. So far Mr. Reese had proved himself far more than any of his previous hired men, so the Machine hadn't been wrong about him. Then why was it so difficult for himself to put more trust in John?

Angry at himself, he took the cup of tea that he had stirred effortlessly for a while and put it down on the table, grabbing the keyboard. First, there was some coding to do. And later, he could try to find where Mr. Reese had placed himself. If he had not chosen to return to the Library instead until then. Determined, Harold started working.

*

It took some seconds before John had an answer ready. He put his most charming smile on, but Sophie's scrutinizing look didn't change.

“Did you follow me? - You did, didn't you.”

“I wouldn't be a good police officer if I were not up to protect our citizens.”

“I don't need and I don't want your protection, if that is what you think, officer.”

Her voice sounded half serious, half flirtatious.

Social skills learned in a bar for how long, John thought, curious.

“I don't think anything.” He answered gentle, then.

“So pure coincidence brought you here?”

The sarcasm in her tone wasn't hidden.

John sensed this would not be an easy task with Sophie. Back to the one and only truth? Good thing Finch wasn't in his ear right now.

“You might be in danger.”

“Says who?”

“My source.”

_That_ rendered her for some seconds speechless.

“And pray, where did you get your _source_ from?”

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you so.”

Now he earned an honest laugh from her. 

“I must admit, you're excellently trained in giving answers. It struck me right away, meeting you in my house. Not always been a cop in your life, right?”

She left him still grinning without a further response and returned minutes later with a bottle of first-rate rum and two glasses.

“Since you're obviously willing to spend your free evening here, let's drink together.”

John wanted to object. Thought the better of it.

“My favorite: 'Botucal'. From Venezuela. Powerful, but with a soft finish.” 

Sophie said, pushing one glass towards him and raising hers. 

“To seeing you here much more often than before?”

John hesitated a tiny moment before taking the glass, but Sophie had already watched him and understood. Since he worked for Harold, he kind of had tried to avoid the hard stuff, feeling himself still in the process of sobering up and not wanting to jeopardize his being ready for any kind of danger the numbers could be in.

“I am sorry.” 

She said at once and wanted to take the glass away, but John shook slightly his head.

“I'm fine.” 

He took the glass offered from her hands and toasted back.

“You are?” 

Sophie tilted her head and continued watching him. From her experience she knew drinking habits didn't come from nowhere. 

“Tell me about _her_. Or is it _him_?”

John stayed for an instant motionless, thinking how funny it was that it actually was _both_ , and against all odds he felt himself inclined to tell Sophie more. Maybe he could learn something in return from her?

“It was a long time ago.”

“But you still regret it.”

The look she earned from him was inscrutable.

“Aren't relationships always leaving a regret in one form or another?”

“Depends on who ended it.”

“Fate?”

John's answer was one part truth, one part a shot in the dark.

“Fate?”

Irritation was clearly on Sophie's face, and she was about to answer when she was called from behind.

“Sophie? Special guests are here!”

She took the bottle of rum and turned around.

“Sorry to interrupt. Work's calling.”

“You'll come back?”

“You are waiting?”

“Yes.”

She shook her head slightly.

“So eager for protection? Got nothing else to do, ha?” 

Instead of an answer, he smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

It wasn't that John had something else to do, apart from thinking about Harold and solely trying to give himself a reason not to go back to the Library. Would he have liked it here? Was he a bar-going type? John sighed. Most certainly, no. It would mean getting involved in a personal conversation with his counterpart. Definitely not a characteristic for his 'really private' boss.

Sophie made her way to the other end of the bar, shaking some hands, having John looking after her. Better to muse about her. He still couldn't make out the threat Sophie seemed to have drawn upon herself. His instincts told him the situation at home wasn't obviously the best but far from the worst, leaving the only possibility where it could come from, remembering the argument he had listened to. Would Sophie put herself in a love triangle?

His head started spinning from the good rum on an empty stomach.

*

_New York, two years earlier, in a bar..._

_“Mark's late.” Kara noticed, sipping on her glass. “My champagne is getting warm.”_

_John shrugged his shoulders. “Loves his big performance. Nothing to do but wait.”_

_Kara leaned towards him, smiling._

_“Look who's calm. It's not that you always have plans when we are here, like going back to stalking the ex-girlfriend again? Oh wait – she's married now, isn't she...”_

_Her smile turned into a full laugh. And of course she knew how to target him where she could hurt him the most._

_Instead of showing a reaction, John took a big sip of his bourbon and was spared another biting remark when Mark showed up._

_“So, the favorite couple of mine is already here.”_

_“Yes we are.” Kara repeated, while Mark took a place beside her. “But why exactly are we here, Mark?”_

_“Didn't you get the memo?”_

_Kara rolled her eyes. “You're such a drama queen, Mark. And, by the way, my drink is warm.” She picked up her glass and shoved it in front of his face._

_“Alright, new order.” Mark signaled for the bartender and put a folder on the counter. “New assignment. Quick and easy.” He tapped on the folder. “Someone stealing government's secrets.”_

_Kara grinned. “Don't they always?”_

_She passed the folder to John and welcomed her new glass with cold champagne, telling Mark how she longed to go back to France to enjoy the original and whether he could do something about it._

_John took the folder in his hands. Concentrated on the content. A man, owning a bar. What the heck had he to do with government secrets? He didn't look like a traitor. But didn't they all, in the end, like Kara said?_

_The latter one was just laughing out loud and interrupted John's musing. “That's hilarious, Mark!”_

_Turning towards John, she joked: “What happens when an agent crosses the side of the street?”_

_He just looked at Mark and her, trying to play along, and shrugged his shoulders, his thoughts elsewhere._

_Kara boxed him in the side and laughed again. “He becomes an double agent.” One look at him, a snarl, then she shoved a second bourbon in his hands, rolling her eyes. “You might as well get comfortable. We won't start until tomorrow, boy scout.”_

*

John spent the whole evening in the bar. There was an ebb and flow to the customers but it stayed steady throughout the night. Long after midnight, he had lost track of the time. Sophie had looked after him from time to time but John was content where he was. When the bar finally closed, he insisted on driving Sophie home and checking the house before she entered. 

And finally, he came to lie down in a motel not far away from Sophie's house. John had pondered a dozen times about returning to the Library but couldn't find it in him to care. Finch's obvious mistrust towards him had wounded him more than he wanted to admit. And the phone showed no missed calls, too, so what was the point?

Tomorrow. He would deal with it tomorrow. John was bone tired and closed his eyes.

*

The next day caught him with a pretty bad headache and empty hands, concerning Sophie. She had promised him to give him a call when she would leave the house, but he couldn't find her anywhere. Not in or around the big garden. Not in Hugh's house, who was there by himself. Where did she go? John started to get angry with himself, slowly understanding the only possibility left for him was to call his boss while he went to his car.

“Finch?”

“ _Finally_ gracing me with your presence, Mr. Reese?”

John stopped in his tracks and took a deep breath.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**
> 
> Short chapter, because of RL, sorry. But I'm already on the fifth one! ;-)

“Finch.”

A short hesitation.

“Might need a little help tracking down Mrs. Sophie Turner. - I lost her.”

A brief pause.

“Finders keepers isn't your strong suit, Mr. Reese?”

There was silence on the other end of the line.

Harold sighed, on the one hand glad that John was back on the comm line, on the other hand still angry that he had been left in radio silence for so long. The anger was a bit heavier now.

“Mr. Reese. - For further notice, I would prefer you to stay online and let me know where to find you. Otherwise I am inclined to put you out of the loop for some time.”

Again, the comm link stayed silent for another minute. Suddenly the voice that spoke to him sounded husky.

“I'm not one of your chess pieces, Finch. - And _for further notice_ , I don't like being checkmated.”

John moved and considered his next words, wanting to get another reaction out of Harold.

“Instead of watching me around the clock you should put a little bit more trust in me. Didn't you select me for my abilities? Or is there a change of heart, suddenly? If so, just tell me. - And for the record, Finch, you could have just asked.”

He could hear Finch sigh again on the other end, getting up from his seat and taking his glasses off, probably. Certainly in the Library and probably putting a hand on his nose - a gesture John had watched him more times that he could count. He waited for an answer.

John simply couldn't understand why every time he went on doing something on his own, he earned a pull-back-speech from his boss. Why? Sometimes he suspected that there had been others before him. Others that hadn't played by the rules. But rules had never been what he was good at. At least not when somebody's life was at stake.

“You want my sanctioning, Mr. Reese, is that it? - Well, let me enlighten you. I am not your former employer and as I said before I prefer to be informed about any step you are planning to take.”

John's steps went to an abrupt halt, slight sarcasm still in his voice.  
“What exactly for, Finch? So you can lecture me about right and wrong? Surprisingly, my former employer had encouraged me to act on my skills, not according to a plan.”

He resumed his walk. 

“If you want me to do that, you should have programmed your Machine to tell you more about the social security numbers. How about an exact profile of what is happening? A doublecheck with your Machine? I still have no clue what is wrong with Sophie's life.”

Sometimes John was simply fed up with Harold's suggestions to act like a 'QSM'. Ironically, life didn't work like that. Did Harold even see that? He, who had watched so many lives from behind a screen? John was one hundred percent sure that Harold had started on this mission from the start... You had to be a sucker for surveillance if you built such a Machine that watched over everyone.

The quiet on the other end spoke volumes. 

Harold didn't know why, but he worried about John a lot more than he had done with his last operatives. Maybe because John put all his compassion and his heart into the numbers – unlike anyone did before. And maybe John was more persistent in wanting to know everything about him, although Harold had refrained from stating anything but the obvious so far. 

“I'll try to find her.”

“On my way, Finch.”

*

Fusco called while John was bound for the Library.

“Got something for me, Lionel?”

“Didn't find much.”

“That's why you're calling?”

“Your names are all clean. But I might have a bonus for you.”

John stopped. 

“Yes?”

“You know, a short while ago when Carter told me that while looking for you all she found were 'redacted files'?”

“The point, Lionel?” 

“Well, I found one, too, connected to her.”

“One about Sophie?”

“No. Not concerning _her_. But she had an older brother, Ben.”

“I know. He's dead.”

“ _Presumed_ dead.”

“Presumed dead?”  
“Remember, 'redacted file'? All those people are _normally_ dead.” Lionel couldn't withstand a bit irony.

“Is there more?”

“Isn't this the part where you say 'thank you'...?”

But Fusco spoke to a dead line, because John had already hung up and quickened his pace. Only three streets away from the Library. Counting on Finch's hacking skills so that they both might finally get some answers to Sophie's threat. 

*

When John arrived in a hurry at the Library, Harold was typing intently on his keyboard.

“You found her?”

Harold shook his head. 

“Not yet. She left her phone in the house.”

“But she's not there. I checked everywhere. - Even the neighbor's house.”

“Yes, the camera of the street showed her leaving the house early in the morning. - The neighbor's house? Hm. That's the direction she took.”

Now it was John's turn to shake his head. 

“I was told she hasn't been there. And she promised me...”

He earned a sharp look from Harold. 

“You spoke to her?”

John walked around the table.

“Yes, I spent the evening with her in the bar where she works and brought her home.” 

Raised eyebrows from Finch spoke for themselves, so John continued.

“Does the neighbor – what was his name, Hugh – own a second car?”

Harold was immediately getting the camera view for John and him to look at onscreen. And yes, some minutes after Sophie was gone from the screen, a silver car drove by. Harold zoomed in on the picture so the plate number could be read.

John shook his head again, thinking out loud.

“Why does she go to that length and choose another car?”

He earned raised eyebrows again.

“In order to avoid a _detective_ following her?”

John sighed.

“I didn't threaten her, Finch, if that's what you're asking.”

“Maybe she went where she didn't want you to see her.”

Instead of an answer, John grabbed his jacket and his phone.

“Where are you going?”

“Calling Fusco to run the license plate for us and turn on the car's GPS locator. Finding Sophie, _whether_ she wants it or not.”

He stopped in his haste. 

“There's another thing for you. Sophie had a brother. Dead. Redacted file. See what you can do?”

“You want me to hack the police data base, Mr. Reese?”

John turned halfway and smirked. 

“Aren't you good with computers, Finch?”

*

While Lionel and Harold were busy with the whole tracking down a silver car process, John made his own motorbike ready. After another hour, the car was located. At Riker's, the famous prison. What the hell took Sophie there? It could explain her secret trip.

It took him not long to arrive and find Hugh's silver car. While waiting for Sophie to show up, he bugged the car as a precaution. And that's what made him spot the stick of dynamite.

*

Meanwhile, Harold tried to dig up everything he could find on Sophie's brother Ben. He ran some special programs in the background to help him discover and decrypt the redacted file which he had spoken about with Detective Lionel Fusco, too. In the end, it seemed to trace back to the FBI. The FBI?

Harold sighed. This was taking him more precious time than he had anticipated when he received an urgent call from the secretary of his new magazine 'Arts and Creation' about an unusual summoning of a board meeting that day. Great. As if he needed more things to add to his busy timetable.

*

John lost no time. He fell on his knees, placed his helmet on the side and _just_ wanted to crouch under the car to defuse the little bomb when he suddenly heard the 'click' of a gun and froze. 

Sophie's voice was loud and clear.

“Dear Detective, if you won't leave me alone, I fear you'll put more people in danger than you already do.”


	5. Chapter 5

In the seconds it took to find an answer for Sophie, John realized that the light beneath the stick was blinking faster. He reacted in one fluid motion, knowing there was not much time left.

“Bomb!”

He sprang towards Sophie, taking her completely by surprise and disarming her quickly. Then, he pulled them both over the next car and onto the ground. Not a second too late - the dynamite exploded. John tried to protect Sophie with his body as best as he could, but he feared it wouldn't be enough.

John heard a strident singing in his ear and then nothing; the wave of the explosion skipped above them, tilting the car next to Sophie's and burying them. A sudden sharp pain at John's head was the last thing he felt before he lost consciousness, the ringing of car alarms echoing after the loud bang.

*

_New York, two years earlier..._

_John took the folder in his hands and concentrated on the content. A man, owning a bar. What the heck did he have to do with government secrets?He didn't look like a traitor. But none of them did, in the end, like Kara said?_

_It wasn't until midday when they spotted their man, on the way to open his bar. The owner was clearly late, because there was already a customer waiting outside with whom he smiled and talked to. In the end, however, their man shook his head and made the older customer go away. Then, he went inside._

_Observing him do those normal things, John inwardly questioned their order again. Government secrets and working an all-day routine? Did it match? No nervous looking around. No – and that's when Kara and he both watched the big black van parking a block away. Government plates. Who...?_

_One man in a black suit got out. Kara and he waited, with a bit of excitement for what else might happen, but he only opened the door for another man. Grey suit, grey hair, an executive briefcase in his hands. He spoke a few words to the man in the black suit and crossed the street. Entered the bar in a hurry - the door wasn't locked. He seemed to be expected._

_This was really getting interesting. And Kara thought the same._

“ _FBI?” She whispered to him, smiling. “Now who's the traitor?”_

_Grabbing his arm and putting it around her shoulders, they crossed the street and went straight for the bar. Playing lovers for all who watched._

_But they didn't get far because there was suddenly a loud bang. A detonation. In the middle of a normal weekday, in the middle of Manhattan. Panic settled in._

_And in the chaos that followed, John and Kara reacted quickly. Through the panicking crowd they tried to get close to the bar that was completely destroyed – shattered window panes, the door in its hinges, the furniture broken – and they were looking for a safe entrance._

_When they were in, they both did a thorough examination of the scene._

“ _Damn. I didn't think they would get here first.”_

_John stepped over the broken glass and the dead beat barstools. Checked the bar counter and behind it. This was quite a detonation. But no dead bodies?_

“ _Yeah. What a shame. But at least we don't have to clean up this mess. It's all on the FBI.” Kara smiled contently._

“ _They took our target.”_

“ _So what?” Kara shrugged her shoulders. “Not our problem anymore.”_

_She stalked around the chaos and made for the back door, hearing police sirens._

“ _I'll inform Mark. Maybe we get some free days before the next assignment comes in.”_

_John just stood there, still not one hundred percent sure the puzzle was solved. But who was he to argue with Kara?_

“ _John...?”_

_*_

When John woke up again, he found himself in another place.

“How did you locate me?” 

There was a slight hostility in Sophie's voice, and John wasn't really sure that he deserved it.

“I have my ways.” 

He moaned quietly, trying to estimate the condition he was in. Every part of his body hurt somehow. There was still a low ringing in his ears from the explosion and his vision was a bit blurred when he opened his eyes. A room. A motel? How did he get here?

Confusion must have been all over his face because Sophie answered.

“I brought us here to the 'Inn-motel'. It belongs to a good friend. I sleep here whenever I have a hangover from the bar and can't get home.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean?” She looked at him, eyebrows raised, accusing. 

“ _You_ brought me in such a compromising situation. If it weren't for you saving me...I don't know...”

John slowly sat up, touched his head and realized there was blood on it.

“Don't...” Sophie moved towards him and brought a towel-wrapped coolpack to his head again. 

“I tried to stop it but you have to lay still.”

John only smiled at her.

“First accusing me of getting you in danger, then taking care of me?”

Sophie's voice was reserved.

“As I said before, you saved my life, so in that case, we're even, Detective. - Although I still haven't decided what to do with you.”

Her eyes were still on him, torn apart.

“Why are you after me?”

John didn't lose his smile.

“I already told you, you're in danger. I'm here to protect you.”

Sophie handed the towel with the coolpack over to John and moved back.

“And what else does the _Detective_ know?”

Suddenly, she had drawn her gun again and directed it towards him.

John eyed her, still holding the coolpack to the back of his head which hurt immensely.

“Really?”

He sighed.

“How about a bit of trust?”

He earned another look of scrutiny from her.

“A bit of trust? - I don't know. I've seen a lot of police-men led astray... besides, I asked a friend of mine about you. I was told that a Detective Stills has been missing for some months now.”

John closed his eyes for a moment. So, there was the cover gone.

“You have a lot of friends, Sophie.”

“Yes, I do. Working in a bar that long includes getting to know a lot of _different_ people.”

Another direct look at him.

“So how do you know about me being in danger? - I won't ask again.” 

The 'click' made it clear that Sophie was serious.

John's look hardened.

“Back to the trust issue, right?”

He leaned forward, right into the muzzle of her gun.

“How about _you_ telling me what you did at Riker's?”

Sophie's hand started shaking.

*

While leaving the Library again for another meeting for his magazine – one he wasn't so sure anymore was even the right investment – one he would have loved to throw in the wind but couldn't because of the important issue concerning its new cover, he decided not to worry too much about Mr. Reese this time.

Trusting that when his hired man found Mrs. Turner, they would finally get some answers. Harold also knew that his programs were still running and decoding the important file.

Because of the lively discussion that ensued in the conference room, he had ended his open connection to Mr. Reese. Harold had waited for just the right point to intervene in this special board meeting. Glad to have the chance, he had told the other members in a firm voice that he was willing to publish an expanded version of the magazine, only to have all important visual artists in New York who were still working with oil or other art styles in the special issue included. Which stopped the discussion immediately, earned him almost a silent minute  _and_ the possibility to leave, finally. In mentioning briefly that 'time is money', he told the other members he trusted them enough to put a final name list on his desk and to decide which artists would join the list without him. 

When Harold left the building, he was relieved to have settled  _some_ problems, at last. As he reopened the line to Mr. Reese, however, all that came through was a dead silence.

“Mr. Reese?”

Harold did not hesitate, waving for a cab. It started to worry him immensely that he got no answer.

“Mr. Reese - ?”

Cold fear gripped him.

“ _John_...?”

In the end, the open comm link offered him some noises and a quiet moan on his fast way to the Library. Substantial relief flooded Harold in realizing there was an actual – albeit slow - conversation going on between Mrs. Turner and Mr. Reese. What had happened?

An incoming message informed him that the redacted file was decrypted. Another problem settled?

*

“I...I was... How do you know?”

Suddenly, Sophie had tears in her eyes. Her hand that was holding the gun sank down. Desperation and torment overtook her.

“ _He_ won't tell me. He simply won't tell me _why_.”

John was about to touch her hand when he heard a well-known voice in his ear at once.

“I guess _he_ is her brother, Benjamin Turner. Imprisoned under a false name, Ryan Blake. That's in the decrypted file. And he's the one who she was visiting. On a regular basis.”

“You mean your brother?” John told Sophie calmly.

“And how do you know...?” One look from watery eyes. “It doesn't matter.” 

Tiredly, she complied.

“I don't know anything, I swear. All Ben is telling me is that I put us into danger visiting him over and over again. That he had made his peace with the situation itself. That I should do the same, whatever the circumstances. And that I should stop being the younger sister who still feels responsible for him all the time,” Sophie concluded.

“Sophie. You're in danger - like you've just seen with the explosion of your neighbor's car.”

A loud and sharp gasp for air made him aware of Finch still in his ear. Did  _he_ miss something?

John continued speaking.

“Let's hope that your brother is not. - How many people know about his real identity?”

Sophie shook her head.

“Hugh knows. Hubby not.”

She hesitated briefly.

“But you know? - I found out by pure coincidence. They sent some prisoners to our neighborhood to repair fences. That's when I met him. Our dog recognized him, actually. He wouldn't let go of him and when I stepped in I couldn't believe my eyes. That was over a month ago. For so long I've lived thinking my big brother is dead and lost to my world – that's why I can't understand why he won't confide in me...”

John sighed. The pounding of his head was slowly reducing, which helped him get his feet on the ground. Although his vision was still a bit blurred on the edges, one thing was clear: he needed to get Sophie out of here and into a safehouse. As fast as possible.

“I guess your brother only wants to protect you.”

“But from whom? And how come _you_ know about it, Detective?”

Eventually, Sophie had some of her spirits regained.

“That's what I was gonna find out, too, had you not shown up that early...”

Calmly, John entwined the gun from Sophie's hands, secured it and gave it back to her.

“First, some safety precautions. And then, I might get you some answers concerning your brother.”

They agreed to leave the motel room and get outside.

“Finch?”

“No cameras on your side, Mr. Reese,” was the prompt answer in his ear.

“I took the liberty of listening in on your little talk. - Do you consider yourself capable of coming to the Library _after_ you've brought Mrs. Turner to one of our safe houses and telling me what happened to the both of you, Mr. Reese?”

“Not kept pace with us, Finch?”

A sigh.

“Mr. Reese...”

“On my way, Finch.”

There was a small little smile on John's face.

*

Back at the Library, after he insisted on John taking some medicine, Harold told him more news about Sophie and her brother.

Upon hearing the first part, John was quiet for a long moment.

“ _She_ 's the real owner of the bar, Finch?”

A simple nod.

“Since when?”

“Since its founding: 2009.”

“And how did you find _that_ out?”

A clever smirk played around Finch's lips.

“Good with computer, then?”

After a pause, Harold added: “But there's more.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N**  
>  Thank you again, _justayellowumbrella_. You're my hero!

  
  


“Did you know that Mrs. Sophie Turner had a high rank at JPMorgan Chase? She dropped out of her career in business administration after marrying her boss.”

John raised his eyebrows.

“She's good with figures and digits, Finch?”

“Gave it all up for starting a family.”

A short pause followed.

“And what about her brother?”

“Unfortunately, there wasn't much more in the redacted file that we already don't know of. - After their parents died early on, he started working in a bar for a long time. Co-owned it for some years. Then, he took it over from his companion. Spent a lot of time there, obviously. Countless photos from customers and him in that bar, I checked the web presence.”

Harold shook his head.

“When he vanished – the bar exploded. It's said he died there, officially. There's a speculation in the file that he had a thing going on. With this man.”

Harold pinned a new photo on the glass board.

John stopped short and knocked on the photo, surprised.

_Grey suit, grey hair, an executive briefcase in his hands_ .

“I know that man.”

Same pattern. Same way?

_Two years earlier..._

“You do?”

“Yes.”

John stayed quiet for a whole minute.

“I've watched him for a short time, and I guess he's from the FBI.”

“So he's the one we may be looking for?”

“Could be. - You said this happened over ten years ago?”

“Yes.”

“Do we have more answers now?”

“Not really.”

Finch darted a glance at Mr. Reese.

“Had your talk with Mrs. Turner been more helpful?”

John shook his head.

“She's desperate about her brother not telling her anything that would put her in danger. Nothing _we_ don't know, too.”

“So we're stuck?”

“Finch, I think _I_ need to talk to Benjamin Turner. Sophie needs some answers, too. Otherwise I don't think she'll stay in our safe house.”

“Mrs. Turner seems to risk a lot concerning her brother.”

John took a long look at the pictures on the glass board and answered, finally: “Didn't you mention their parents dying early on? - I guess they more or less raised each other. He's her only family left, Finch.”

Harold stepped beside him, looking at the glass panel, too.

“Early? That depends. She was eighteen years old, he was nineteen. I would say that's an age which made them able to take care of themselves.”

“Yet, not adults.”

“We all have to bury our parents at some time, Mr. Reese. - As you and I know from our personal experience.”

“ _We_ do?”

John earned a critical look from Harold.

“I told you in the beginning, Mr. Reese, _we_ have more in common than you might think.”

Then, he turned around.

“I suggest you get a start on visiting Mrs. Turner's brother at Riker's. - I'll get you the necessary documents right away.”

_*_

John was sitting in the visitor cell, waiting for Benjamin. When the man was finally brought, John was surprised at his appearance. He had seen one picture of the younger version, but in person was even more uncanny. Benjamin could've been Sophie's twin brother.

Benjamin took a seat on the other side of the table, looking carefully at John.

“And who are you?”

“I'm here on Sophie's behalf.”

“I don't know her.”

John wasn't in the mood for wordplay. To finally get some answers, it seemed, he had to go tougher.

“Born July 1960. Your sister Sophie is one year younger. You lost your parents at the age of nineteen and went to work in a bar. Moved your sister from your parents' place to here to New York so she could live with you. You enabled her to continue her schooling and to study. She was a very successful and highly-qualified banker, until she got married and you officially 'died' in an accident. That was ten years ago.”

Benjamin gulped visibly, but shook his head.

“Sorry. What are you talking about?”

John looked him straight in the eyes.

“I'd like to talk to you about your past.”

“You must mistake me for somebody else.”

“No.”

“I'm not...”

“Yes. You are Sophie's brother.”

Examining John, it took a while before Benjamin answered.

“You're not Hugh. And you're definitely not Rob. So again, who are you?”

John tilted his head and decided for the truth. He leaned forward.

“I'm the one who protects your younger sister. The only family you have left. - She just escaped a car explosion after visiting you this morning.”

Benjamin was shocked at first, he could see, about all the things Reese knew. But then, he seemed to pull himself together.

“Good thing you were there. Or a bad thing?”

John started to get impatient.

“Listen. If you don't help me here, I won't know where the danger for Sophie comes from. And I can't protect her properly. Time's ticking. If I don't tie her to a chair or get her some answers she'll go looking for herself again. In that case, I can't guarantee the safety of your sister any longer.”

Benjamin wasn't able to suppress a brief smile.

“Yeah, she's stubborn like that. Always has been.”

John's mouth twitched. It seemed the brother knew his sister well.

“So, let's clear up some things. You got yourself locked up for money laundering?”

This made Benjamin slightly edgy.

Avoiding the question, he asked: “Why do you think I can help?”

John let a small sigh escape.

“Since you're in jail under a false name, let's start with that. - Aren't you responsible for the whole thing?”

“I am not...”

Time to try another angle.

“Did you know that Sophie started to work in a bar after your death?”

“She always liked--”

“Did you know she even owns a bar now? And dropped out of her career, even though she made senior partner?”

“I'm not the one to blame for--”

“What? That she misses you? Wants the only family left back in her life?”

Benjamin shook his head.

“She loved her bank job and the world of finance,” he whispered, “and always joked that numbers were easier to read than humans...”

She made a pretty good turn, John thought, judging by all the friends she seemed to have now via the bar. And then he was thinking of Finch, to whom this joke applied, too.

He sighed and watched the emotions the other man was going through.

_A man, owning a bar. What the heck did he have to do with government secrets? He didn't look like a traitor._

No, John decided, not as guilty as it seemed, though Benjamin's next words seemed to differ.

“I deserve to be in here.” Benjamin concluded bitterly.

“Why?”

“The two of us got along just fine, at first. But then I got to know _him_. I couldn't tell Sophie. The bar was my whole life, you know? I wanted to protect it at all costs. So when he asked me to allow him to do some business there, I allowed it. Even encouraged him.”

John instinctively knew what would come next.

“ _Him_? So you did it for a friend?”

“Yes,” Benjamin nodded, “he was always there. Helped me through it all. Helped _us_ through it all. You know, my sis never asked me where all the money had come from. And later...”

“You went off the grid. Vanished. You didn't think she would find you?”

“Not if it weren't for that damn program...and the dog...”

“What happened?” 

Benjamin rubbed his hands nervously.

“My friend needed an inconspicuous place to meet his contacts. That's what he told me. What better place than a frequented bar? In return, he gave me parts of his share, so I didn't ask questions...”

“Money?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

Benjamin got suspicious.

“Why are you asking?”

“I suppose it's a lot.”

“We'll need it when I'm out. When we escape together.”

Here, John hesitated.

“You didn't know your friend found another place for his business?”

A short silence followed.

“No.”

Benjamin gulped visibly, again.

“But I started to suspect as much. He didn't visit lately.”

After some time, he shook his head.

“Well. I certainly paid my dues.”

John thought for a moment.

“Does anyone else know about the money?”

Benjamin shook his head again. Then, he fell silent.

“There could be someone...at least, I think he might....”

“Care to explain?”

Benjamin leaned back and closed his eyes.

“Not really.”

John insisted further.

“Someone who thinks your sister knows...?”

Benjamin sighed, still caught in some grief and mumbling to himself.

“Now I pay for my indecision. I knew my friend was dealing with sensitive data from the government. And I don't know why he thought he would never get caught. Well... in the end, my bar was gone. And my life.”

“You still protect him.”

A wry smile was the only answer John got, at first.

“Love makes you blind, right? Isn't that what they say? And I wanted to protect Sophie. She should never find out, you know. You promise me?”

Benjamin leaned forward.

“What was I to say? I was her older brother. One she looked up to. One she adored. One she counted on. The best thing was that I vanished. So I made the deal and went to prison.”

“Same old story.” John commented. “But what I still don't know is why your sister is in danger instead of you.” 

“It could be the money. And they're on to Sophie because she knows where the money is.”

John was stunned, for a moment.

“She knows?”

“Well, not exactly. But she knows my favorite place. That's what could make her the target, I guess.”

“The money is still there?”

“Yes.”

“You didn't trust her with knowing?”

“I trust my sister with my life. But – the less she knew, the better for her. You know? I didn't want to put her in danger, too. I wanted to spare her...all of this.”

“In the end, the past caught up with both of you, Benjamin. Was it all worth it?”

Benjamin scrutinized him and shot back.

“What was your past like? Does protecting a random stranger make it worth to you?”

John was quiet for a moment.

“We both want to save Sophie's life, right? - So here's the deal. I'll keep your secret, when you tell me the name of your contact. And he's FBI, in case you didn't know.”

There was a long silence, but Benjamin made a decision. He took the pen John had offered him, wrote down a name and handed the note back to John.

“Thank you, for whatever it's worth.”

John leaned forward again and spoke quietly so that only Benjamin heard him.

“If I can, I'll get you out of here.” 

*

John called Finch immediately while leaving the prison.

“Mr. Reese. I assume your talk with Mr. Turner had been successful?”

“I've got a name. I need whatever you can dig up quickly, Finch.”

John told him what he had learned from Benjamin on his drive back to the safe house. It was already late in the evening when he arrived. Of course, Sophie was gone. Damn. What was it about her that she always left when he tried to help and protect her?

Then, Fusco was on the other line.

“Wait a minute, Finch.”

Fusco came hurriedly through.

“I have a message for Detective Stills from a worried neighbor, Hugh Bryant.”

John sighed inwardly.

“Go on.”

“It says that he was called and informed that Sophie's safe. The caller wants the money in return for her life. And that the person who talked with her brother would know where to get said money. - I presume that would be you?”

Fusco didn't bother to hide his sarcasm.

“Did the caller leave a number, Fusco?”

“A little thank you goes a long way, you know.”

“Lionel...”

“He left a number, Detective Sunshine. - Sending it to you.”

“Good.”

For the first time, Fusco tried to reach out.

“You'll call me when you need back up?”

But he spoke to a dead line, again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N**
> 
> I was heartbroken after the end of POI. One of my heroes died, one of my heroes survived. How could I go on?  
> I still miss John&Harold. But I was lucky, because there was (and still is) one person who helped me through it all.
> 
> This story is dedicated to you, _justayellowumbrella_.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own or make any money from Person of Interest.


End file.
